Unconventional
by Jaxrond
Summary: My name is Rosemarie Jones, and I shall share with you my story. It is a story of war, history, friendship, and romance. It is the story of how I became a sister to a boy named Alfred F. Jones. It is the story of how I became what I am today. It is the story of how I fell in love with a dangerous man. This is the story of a Nation who is also a girl. This is my story. PrussiaXOC.
1. Prologue

My name is Rosemarie. A stupid name, isn't it? At least, by modern terms it is. Rose never did seem to be an extremely popular name. Now, _Mary_, there were always a hundred Mary's and likely always will be. I suppose it all has something to do with it being the name of the Virgin Mother. Some people say my name is old fashioned, others that it is elegant, and some that it is 'unconventional'. However, my mother was never conventional, not even when it came to naming. Indeed, she had that extremely unconventional affair with my father, the affair that created me. Proper British women were not to fraternize Native Americans, or Indians, as they are more widely known. Perhaps, if an Indian woman came to trade, minimal contact may be achieved, but aside from that, a strict distance was kept. For a romance to bloom between a British woman and a Chief was shocking, scandalous, and, of course, could only end in tragedy.

I'm not sure what drew my father to my mother. Perhaps it was her hair, long waving locks the color of shining gold. Mayhap it was her eyes, a startling blue green that betrayed her English heritage. However, I personally believe that it was her laugh and the way she smiled, and the way her eyes showed what lay beneath the surface. After all, other men could notice beauty, but my father, well, he was what one may call _different_. I know of my mother only through the words of others, and so, I make this assumption based on what I have heard, and what I know of my father.

My father, Chief Orenda, was not human, per say. He was Native America, though he did not receive this title until the Europeans began to colonize. He was known by his own people only as 'Orenda'. He was on good terms with both England and France, who were the two main powers in the 'New World' at the time, though England was more predominant.

The story of my parents' romance was told to me as such. My father was returning to the tribes after a meeting with Britain when he saw her, standing in the market, trading with an Indian woman for beads. For once, as she stood there, golden hair bound on the crest of her head, dainty hands busied with the exchange, the great Chief found himself unable to think clearly. His heart beat faster, his eyes remained fixed on the beauty before him. Never before had he seen such a woman.

Now, you must understand, my past and my present are full of unconventionality. It is frowned upon for a Nation, or Embodiment, whatever you prefer, to take on a human bride. Lovers are another matter. After all, one only needs look at Francis and see that no one seems to have a problem with his womanizing, excluding Arthur. However, Arthur has problems with everything Francis does, no matter the triviality. God bless them both. Not only is the idea of a Nation wedding a human terribly disfavored, but the idea of a romance between a British lady and an Indian man as well. However, my parents found themselves quite unconcerned with this and their story continued.

My father spoke to her, drawn in by her beauty, and fell in love with her almost immediately. Arthur never believed this part of the story because he thinks love at first sight is poppycock. I confess that I made him feel guilty in retribution by telling him, with tears in my eyes, that he was a terribly foul git for saying so, because it can happen and did happen. My mother was loved by almost everyone. She was so very kind and sweet. How then, was it so unbelievable that my father would be so drawn to her?

Chief Orenda courted my mother, making an effort to adhere to British etiquette. I suppose the reason no one intervened was because they assumed that, like Francis, my father would simply lose interest. This was not the case. Her parents had died in one of the many harsh winters, and, without male kin, Helen herself agreed to be married to him properly, without the approval of her fellows or that of the other Nations.

The Nations were in an upheaval. Never before had one of them taken a bride who was not also a Nation. A true romance between a human and an Embodiment was seen as foolish and was largely denounced. However, my father did not care. He, Native America, saw no reason to change for the rest of the world. He had his love, his people, and a peaceful heart, what more could he desire? He remained firmly fixed in his decision, unaware of the tragedy that would soon follow.

Three years into their marriage, my mother became pregnant with me. To this day, no one is sure how this came about. After all, it was unprecedented, and nothing like it has happened since. She was quite far along in a very difficult pregnancy when my father was called away to the West, to participate in dealings with the tribes that were yet undiscovered by the White Man. Though he was in loathe to leave, his worries were quelled when one of the nearby tribes promised to care for my mother until his return. They would do anything for Chief Orenda, they said. He was still gone when I was born in the mid 1660's, a healthy baby girl. My mother, however, did not come out of the birthing unscathed. She was dying. Bearing a half-breed had not been easy. Human bodies, it seemed, were not meant to carry the offspring of such an entity. My father returned in time to for us to spend her last weeks on this Earth as a family. I was told that she loved my father to the end, despite the hardships she had gone through because of him.

My father disappeared after that. Some said he went North, into what would eventually be Canada. Others said that he went West again, to spend more time among our brothers there. And still others said that he went South to war aimlessly with the Spanish as they continued to oppress our people. I cannot say. I know only that he was not there, and that I grew up within the tribe.

I aged very slowly, like all Embodiments. It seemed that in this I would take after my father, as well as in physical appearance. I inherited his black hair and copper skin, however, I gained my blue green eyes from my mother. I was exotic, an outcast. There was no conscious decision among the tribe to treat me differently than the other children, however, it was difficult for them not to when I aged at less than half the rate of the others. My 'peers' grew old and withered away by the time I reached physical maturity. I was strange, alien to them, and, as such, spent much time wandering between the tribes, my people, and the colonies, my mother's people. Over the following century, I watched both people groups grow and change, the white settlers more so than the Indians. Progress boomed and life seemed good.

When I had reached the physical appearance of a human sixteen-year-old, I met a man, who was more of a boy really. He was improper and terribly annoying at first, however, I grew to love him.

My name is Rosemarie Jones, and, now that you have heard my parents' unconventional story, you shall hear mine. It is a story of war, history, friendship, and romance. It is the story of how I became a sister to a boy named Alfred F. Jones, took on his name, and fought alongside him through the war for his freedom and those following. It is the story of how I became what I am today, the half-blood daughter of a Nation who came to shoulder part of her father's burden. It is the story of how I fell in love with a man, fought against him, and came to realize he loved me as well, despite the animosity of our people.

This is the story of a Nation who is also a girl. This is my story.


	2. Meeting Alfred

I met Alfred one day when I was visiting Boston. I had dressed the part, wearing a corseted gown and sunhat, carrying a handbag and appearing as though I were on of the middle class ladies out for a stroll. I enjoyed being around my mother's people. They were so very different from the tribe. Of course, despite my attempts to blend in and simply enjoy my surroundings, I drew numerous stares. After all, my only 'British' feature was my blue green eyes. Otherwise, I looked like my father's people. I was often avoided or sometimes met with open hostility. On this particular day, I was greeted with the latter. I can remember it so well.  
I had briefly stopped to admire the ocean in the harbor when one of the sailors approached me, grinning lewdly.  
"Hello, there, pretty lady."  
I felt my nose crinkle in distaste. He smelled foul and I got the impression that his personality matched his stench. At my expression, his grin widened.  
"Now, now, don't make that face. I'm just a humble sailor," he spread his hands in a placating gesture, as though he were truly innocent.  
His brown hair hung lankly about his sunburned face, greasy and matted in some places. Many of his teeth were missing or rotting, fully displayed by his repulsive smile. He was taller than I, and broader. Had I been a human woman, I would have been more concerned. However, my strength was beyond that of normal humans, and I knew that, should I have to, my studies with the tribe would be more than enough to subdue him.  
"You see, pretty lady, I just got in from sea and was thinking about finding a lass to spend some time with while I'm here," he stepped closer, "A pretty Indian maid like you would be a fine choice."  
As I moved to step back, he reached out with a startling speed and snatched my wrist, holding it tightly enough to nearly make me wince. Despite his pretty words, he was still as foul as I had originally thought. I could feel the bruising force of his grip through the fabric of my sleeve.  
"What do you say, pretty lass? Will you help keep away my loneliness?"  
I took a step back, vainly attempting to tug away from him. I did not want to fight him. After all, he was only a idiotic human man, and, besides, I was wearing a dress.  
"Let go of me," I said calmly, raising my voice slightly and narrowing my eyes at him.  
I succeeded in drawing the attention of a few passerby, though, none of them stopped to do anything more than stare in curiosity.  
The man chuckled, as though I were being silly.  
"Now, now, lass, I'm asking nicely."  
I gathered my strength and wrenched my hand away, surprising him, before drawing it against my chest. I vaguely noted that his hand had left a ring of grime on my sleeve. I quickly stepped back, away from him.  
"I said let go of me."  
The man quickly recovered from his surprise. His face contorted in anger.  
"Wench," he moved toward me.  
I took another step back, cursing my bad luck and wishing I had thought to bring my favorite weapon, my tomahawk, with me. I braced myself. Before the sailor could reach me, however, someone stepped in front of me. My eyes widened in surprise. From behind, I could only see a well tailored suit and a mess of blonde hair.  
"Hey, there," his voice was friendly as he raised his hands in a placating manner, "No need to get angry. Why don't we all settle down?"  
The sailor stopped, and, after a moment, drew himself up.  
"This is none of your business, _friend_. Move aside. This is between me and the woman. We were about to go spend some time together."  
The man in front of me lowered his hands.  
"Really? Because it looked to me like she didn't want anything to do with you," he gave a slight laugh, attempting to keep the mood light despite the sailor's face beginning to turn red.  
"Get out of the way, boy!"  
The sailor charged forward and drew back his fist, obviously angry at having been rejected and then stopped by the newcomer. As his fist flew towards the man's face, I heard the cry before I felt it rise from my own throat.  
"Look out!"  
The new man's hand snapped out, catching and stopping the punch. Gasps and murmurs of surprise went up from the onlookers. My mouth hung open. The sailor's arm shook with the effort he was putting into landing the hit despite the obstruction. The defender seemed completely unfazed.  
"Hey! I was being perfectly nice! There's no reason for that!"  
The sailor bared his rotting teeth.  
"Out of the way, bastard."  
The blonde man sighed.  
"Using that language in front of a lady."  
The man swung his arm, and, quite easily, threw the sailor into the water, which lapped at the docks nearly ten yards away.  
"That's totally uncalled for."  
A moment later, the sailor resurfaced from his forced dive, spluttering. The crowd, still whispering amongst themselves, began to disperse. I stared at the man who had saved me, wondering if, perhaps, he was like me. My suspicions were confirmed when he turned to look at me.  
Nations are different from normal humans. They do not look different, but there is a certain, shall I say, aura about them that marks them as set apart. I could tell that this man in front of me, while not a full-fledged Nation, was definitely an embodiment of some sort.  
He smiled at me, the expression easily reaching his blue eyes.  
"Are you alright, ma'am?"  
I pressed my lips together, well aware that my mouth had still been hanging open, and nodded.  
"Yes, thank you," I paused, "Though...I could have taken care of him myself, and you were almost hurt. I feel a bit guilty, really."  
The man, who I saw now was still more of a boy, blinked at me in surprise. Then he laughed.  
"It's alright! No reason to feel guilty. I knew what I was getting into."  
I nodded again.  
"Very well. If you say so."  
There was a moment of silence between us. Neither of us, it seemed, really knew what to say next. The boy fidgeted slightly, giving me the impression that he did not handle silences well. Finally, he stuck out a hand.  
"My name's Alfred. Alfred Jones."  
I stared at his hand for a moment. It was obvious that he was a true American. British gentlemen would never offer to shake a lady's hand. I placed my own in it, glad to be seen as an equal for once, instead of a savage Indian or stupid woman.  
"Rosemarie. I don't really have a last name," I smiled somewhat sheepishly.  
I was used to being degraded by the white man. That I could deal with. However, one who wanted to treat me in a friendly manner put me off balance. I was not sure how to proceed with him.  
His smile returned, wider than the last time. His expression was very sweet.  
"That's a pretty name."  
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. The tribe had always seen the name as too English and had given me many different Indian names over the years. As my father, Chief Orenda, still had yet to appear and had never been a part of my namings, even my original one. Never before had my true name been complimented.  
"Th-thank you," I said softly, "No one has ever told me that before."  
He looked at me in an almost childish surprise, his eyes widening.  
"Really? That's terrible! A true gentleman should always compliment a lady."  
I cocked my head to the side, looking up at him. His blue eyes were big and earnest, framed by his messy, sandy hair. He sounded as though he were quoting someone.  
"Who told you that?" I asked curiously.  
"Britain," he replied, "France told me some other stuff, but I don't think it's right," he paused, looking thoughtful, "When he tried to show me how to say it, he got slapped."  
I giggled, drawing his attention back to the conversation at hand. Gently, I disengaged my hand from his grip, as he had held it for longer than propriety allowed. However, I got the impression that it was a blunder made in innocence.  
"It sounds like you know some interesting people, Alfred."  
"Yeah," he chuckled, "But, I guess you at least know Britain too, right? I mean, he was talking about Native America..but I thought he called Native America a 'he'..." he muttered the last part to himself.  
Seeing as Alfred had obviously picked up on my own status as an embodiment, of a sort, I sighed softly.  
"I am not Native America. Native America is my father."  
The American looked at me in surprise.  
"Really? Then who's your mom?"  
I winced slightly. I had heard the stories of how the other Nations shunned my mother and father's romance. I did not know how I, the half-breed product of that romance, would be received. Briefly, I considered lying, however, I knew to do so would dishonor my mother's memory. So, I answered him truthfully.  
"My mother's name was Helen...and she was human."  
A thick and profound silence fell over us. I stared at the ground, waiting for rejection, for him to call me an abomination or some other foul name. However, after a moment that stretched on into eternity, Alfred spoke again. His voice was soft, almost soothing.  
"I see. So, you're the one they were talking about."  
I flinched slightly at his words.  
He quickly reached out and gripped my shoulder.  
"Hey! What's wrong? I'm not going to try and use you to gain more land or anything. I promise!"  
I looked up at him, wide-eyed. He had thought my reaction was because I was afraid he would use me? I stared at him, searching for anything that suggested he was being false. He stared back at me with an open expression, wondering at my scrutiny.  
"What?" he asked.  
"You...aren't going to reject me?"  
His face crumpled in confusion.  
"What do you mean?"  
I ducked my head again, my face hidden in the shadow of my hat.  
"It's just that...no one approved of my father marrying my mother. And I thought...that as a Nation...you might see me as a...a half-breed abomination. Since..I'm the offspring of that union."  
This seemed to distress him as he reached out with his other hand so that he was holding both my shoulders.  
"Aw, Rose," the use of a nickname caused me to look up, "Why would you think that? There's nothing wrong with you," his expression was indeed quite distressed. For the first time, his blue eyes were sad, "I'm not going to reject you, alright? I don't think anyone would. Especially once they met you," he looked at me for a moment, "Have you ever met another Nation?"  
I shook my head. The light returned to his eyes and he bent slightly so that he was more at my level. He smiled very slightly.  
"See? You don't know that they wouldn't like you. They just didn't like what your parents did because it had never happened before and they were afraid of change, that's all. It's got nothing to do with you."  
At those words, Alfred was suddenly shown to me in a new light. It seemed that he was not just a kind yet clueless boy. There was a streak of wisdom within him that, though it did not usually show itself, had come through in that moment. What he had said caused a weight to lift off me. In all honesty, I had dreaded the day I would meet a Nation, afraid that the meeting would be full of hatred and disgust toward me. Now, though, I was so relieved. He was right, they could not hold me accountable for the actions of my parents. I was my own person.  
My lip trembled. I had always prided myself on being strong, now, however, tears threatened to appear.I rubbed at my eyes furiously, willing them not to fall. Alfred smiled, and, in a shocking move, pulled me into a tight hug. He had trapped my arms at my sides, not allowing me to rub at my eyes any further.  
"It's okay to cry. You don't have to worry anymore, okay? If you want, I can be your friend, and I'll never let any of the other Nations or anyone else mistreat you."  
Feeling an overpowering relief, I returned the hug, wrapping my arms around him as much as I could.  
"Thank you," my voice was choked and muffled by his suit, "Thank you so much."  
I had never been treated as humanely and lovingly as I was in that moment, not even my my fellow tribesmen. That day was the first of many spent with Alfred. He would become my pillar of support, my best friend, and my brother. We would become nearly inseparable, even as the years passed and he sometimes was insufferable.


	3. Responsibility

**Hello and thank you for reading! This is my first Hetalia fanfic so I'm very nervous about how it will be accepted. Thanks to zoey is the best mew mew for her very kind review. **

**I apologize is America seems somewhat OOC. Remember, he was a lot more serious back in the day, before he was independent. After the war he becomes the Alfred we all know and love, so, don't worry, it's just a phase, XD.**

**Please R&R!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

* * *

Alfred and I were together for nearly ten years, during which time, England was gone, tending to things in his own lands. As time passed, we grew closer until we were, as some say, joined at the hip. I spent less time in the tribe and more time staying in Alfred's large home. I felt accepted, truly accepted for the first time in my life, and it was not a feeling I was ready to give up. I supported Alfred as the mistreatment of his people began. I will never forget the night he told me he wanted to become independent.

"But, Alfred, you adore Arthur. Why do you want to separate from him so badly?"

Alfred paced furiously before the window, wearing a pair of trousers and a common white shirt, not at all the clothes of a gentleman. He was beginning to reflect the state of his populace, while I remained unchanged. I had never seen him so depressed or angry.

"Britain's changed," he replied, "He's not like he used to be. I get that he has to do as his people say, but, he does have influence. He could at least make an effort to stop this!"

It was obvious that he had already thought through this. He was now bringing it up because he had made his decision. These were old arguments he was bringing forth. Sighing, I stood from where I sat in an armchair by the fireplace and made my way over to him. I pained me to see him like this. Alfred had become my guiding light when I had resigned myself to loneliness. I wanted to help him in any way I could. Gently, I took his arm and stopped his pacing. He looked down at me with tormented eyes, standing a good four inches over me. I moved to take his hand between mine.

"I don't pretend to know what goes on in Arthur's mind," I said softly, looking at our hands, his pale against my copper skin, "I've never met him. However, if you are set on declaring independence," I looked up at him, "Then I'll stand with you, for what it's worth."

He seemed to lighten then. He gave a determined nod.

"I'm no longer going to be the American Colonies."

July 4, 1776 is a date I will never forget. The American Declaration of Independence was signed. Alfred had taken the first steps toward liberation. As expected, however, England clung on with a grasp like iron, unwilling to let his colony go. The Declaration was rejected, tensions rose, and, in 1775, nine years after our Declaration, war broke out.

* * *

I finally met my father during the nine years between the signing of the Declaration and the official start of the Revolution. He appeared one day on our doorstep, mine and Alfred's, wearing the traditional clothing of our people. He was tall, standing over six feet and dwarfing me. His long hair was loosed on one side and shaven into a warrior's mohawk on the other. Wearing only a long, buckskin breechcloth and a cape of feathers, nearly every inch of his formidable muscle was bared to the eye. He was the most imposing man I had ever met. I had never seen my father in person, aside from when I was a very small child, but he was unmistakeable from the aura of power he radiated. He looked at me with expressionless black eyes, causing me to shudder.

I had answered the door, and now stood before him, wearing a pair of hide breeches and a simple shirt, the clothes of a man. Feathers and beads adorned my black hair, nearly matching his. I wondered what he saw in me right then. Did I appear as the daughter he had with his wife, a child made of the love of two peoples, or was I an abomination, tainted by human blood? We stared at each other for what seemed to be eternity, me attempting to read his expression, he staring back without one.

"Rosemarie."

For the first time in over a century, I heard my father's voice. It was deep and radiated with power. I drew myself up straighter, meeting his gaze fully.

"Father."

There was a moment of silence between us. Then, to my utter shock, he fell to his knees before me, bowing so that his fists were planted in the dirt and his head was hung.

"Forgive me!"

Startled, I dropped down beside him.

"Father!"

He lowered himself further, so that he was still bowing.

"I do not deserve that name. You should not call me 'father'. I left you alone for over a century," he paused, lest his voice crack, "I have shamed myself and dishonored your mother," he looked up at me then, black eyes anguished, "I do not ask for your forgiveness, but I do offer my apologies. My daughter, nothing can make up for what I have done to you."

I was speechless, looking back at him with wide eyes. I did not know how to respond. I had never expected him to apologize. I had not known _what_ to expect. I looked down at the ground, thinking over what he had said. A part of me wanted to blame him for the pain he put me through. I had never had friends before Alfred. Humans died too quickly. In the blink of an eye, they moved from childhood to adulthood and then faded from existence. For almost a hundred years, I had been truly alone, the only one of my kind. And it was his fault. However, I had also yearned for this day. When I was younger, I had dreamed of him emerging from the forest and taking me with him, away from the tribe and into the west, where we would be together. Though those days of dreaming had passed, I still longed to meet him, to know my father. The desire to have my father with me won out over my anger at him for leaving me alone.

Knowing that he would not like an embrace, unlike Alfred, who gave hugs like they were the freest thing in the world, I placed my hand over one of his.

"I do forgive you, father. Please, don't fret," I looked up at him, smiling slightly, "I'm glad you're here."

My father, Chief Orenda, did not smile. He was too hardened for that. However, his eyes did show a certain amount of relief and happiness at my response. Still kneeling on the ground with me, he reached out and placed a hand on my head. He looked into my eyes for a long moment.

"Since you have accepted me as your father, I will give you a name of our people. You mother named you in the fashion of the white man. Now it is time for you to bear a name of the tribes," he seemed to be staring deep within me, searching for something, "I see within you a spirit of goodness and a thirst to do what is right..." he stood, drawing me up with him.

He took a step back, leaving me on the front step, alone.

"Before the great spirits, I name you, my daughter, the child of two worlds. By their blessing, you shall be called Yoskeha, in the language of our Iroquois brethren. I, Chief Orenda, named as the embodiment and protector of our people, give you this name, for you shall be a bringer of goodness and hope."

He then clapped his hands down on both shoulders.

"My daughter, though I was not permitted to formally name you in the ceremony of our people, I ask that you bear this name proudly. It is yours now, and it is what our people will call you. Yours is not an easy path. You are a child of the tribes as well as of the colonies. You walk a thin line. Perhaps, it will be easier for you now that you will better fit with our people."

I smiled, overjoyed. I did not mind that the ceremony had not been performed. To be named in the fashion of our people allowed me to feel better integrated with them. No longer would I live with them, knowing that my very name set me apart. My father had given me a great blessing.

"Thank you, father, for this gift."

My father did not come inside to meet Alfred. Instead, after I informed him I would be out for a while, the two of us left and went together to the woods. We walked together, speaking of the politics of the tribes, where he had been for the past century, and, of course, the upcoming war. When we breached this topic, my father stopped walking and seated himself on a nearby stump. He fit so well within the surroundings of the forest. He belonged in a way I knew I never could. I sat on the ground a few feet away.

"So, you will stand with the boy in this war."

I knew he was referring to Alfred. I nodded.

"Yes. I owe Alfred a great deal. Not only that, but, he is my friend, I must stand with him."

My father's eyes bored into me.

"Your friend, you say? You will go great distances for this friend."

I met his gaze unwaveringly, something I had been taught during my time among the Indian people.

"I will fight alongside him and help him gain his independence."

"Hmph," my father slowly turned his head and looked off into the distance, as though pondering something, "...I have agreed to ally with England."

I felt my stomach drop. I had hoped to convince my father to ally with us. Alfred and I were young and inexperienced in the ways of war. To have two such old and powerful Nations pitted against us caused me to feel a thrill of fear. My father looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Will you reconsider? The odds are against you. Let the boy fight for his freedom alone. Fight alongside me."

I immediately shook my head.

"No, I will stand with Alfred. I'm sorry, father, but my loyalties lie with him."

He gave a soft sigh, as though this is what he had expected.

"Very well," he looked at me fully, "I shall allow you to move amongst the tribes, recruiting anyone who will stand with you."

I felt my eyes go wide. He had just offered to give up some of his own power so that I may have it. A Nation draws his or her power from the people. To allow me to recruit from the tribes meant that I would grow in strength while he would weaken.

"It is the least I can give you, considering that I left you alone for so long," he stood from his seat on the stump, cape fluttering around him, "Go, learn what it means to be a Nation."

He moved toward me as I stood as well. Removing his cape, he wrapped it around my shoulders instead. I was taken off guard by the gesture.

"Father..."

"This will prove that you are my daughter and that your words should be listened to," he placed one large hand on my head, "Go to them and convince them of your cause. But, be warned, for some of them will not go with you and will remain loyal to me. You should also know that when you gain the support of the people, you will form a bond with them. When one of them falls in combat, you will feel it. When their morale drops, so shall yours. Do you understand?"

I nodded, swallowing. I suddenly understood the gravity of what was happening. I was going to step into the roll of a Nation. I would represent those Native Americans who had sided with America.

"Good luck, Yoskeha, my daughter."

After patting my head once more, my father turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving me wearing his cape and bearing a new responsibility upon my shoulders.


	4. The Prussian

**Due to the introduction of Prussia in this chapter, I did throw in some German. Keep in mind, I looked it up online and it may not be grammatically correct. Also, while Prussia's eyes are depicted as red in the earlier series, I do like Beautiful World the best and have decided to use his appearance from that series instead. His eyes are so pretty in that one~. **

**I found Gilbert to be rather difficult to write, so, if he seems OOC, I apologize. I am going for a tamer version than what we see in the anime, so that might be the case.**

**Please, read and review! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hetalia.**

* * *

I immediately did as my father told me to and left to gain the support of the tribes. Alfred assured me he would be fine on his own, and so, I tried not to worry too much. I spent years wandering among my people, sometimes trekking through the forest, sometimes riding on a borrowed horse. I came to them in the attire of our people, wearing skins, feathers, beads, and moccasins. Occasionally, when approaching the more warlike tribes, I wore battle makeup. Always, I kept my father's cape of eagle feathers about my shoulders. To have one feather of an eagle is a great honor, to bear a cape made of them is unheard of. It was widely known that only my father, Chief Orenda, possessed such a cape, and so, to see me wearing it, the tribes knew who and what I was. I was greeted with respect and only occasionally challenged in a test of strength. Everyone was willing to listen, however, only some were willing to follow. As I gathered followers, my strength and power grew. Where there had once been an emptiness inside me, now there was a spark of life and light. My bearing became prouder and straighter, and my eyes seemed brighter than before. I felt vibrant. I had become Yoshkeha, a warrior on the path of good.

It was toward the end of my route that I received word that the storm was about to break. I hurried through my next few destinations before riding back toward New York, where Alfred and I had taken up residence. When I arrived there, I found out that he had already left and gone a little ways into the wilderness to train and ready himself for battle.

* * *

My horse, trained to move through the dense woods, was nearly silent as I rode towards the campsite. I had been tracking Alfred's passage for days. Fortunately, while he had done a decent job of moving away stealthily, he had still left enough of a trail for a skilled tracker to follow. I knew I was close from the few boot prints I had found. They had been joined by others, suggesting that my friend had gathered a band of men with him. I smiled slightly, relieved that he was safe and preparing.

As I neared the camp, I began to hear the voices of men and the crack of gunfire. They had moved far enough away from civilization so as not to be stumbled upon by someone drawn to the noise, and therefore were able to train freely. The horse I was riding, a brown creature adorned with paint and feathers, moved forward unerringly at my command, despite the noise. I had stuck to the main road, knowing that, if they were being smart, the American rebels would have posted scouts there, increasing my chances of being found.

I was correct. When I estimated myself to be only a few miles out, a man stepped out of the foliage, pointing a musket at me. He was young, only a boy, and obviously not a soldier. He did not even have a uniform. His hands shook slightly as he held his weapon. I tugged lightly on my steed's mane, halting it.

"S-state your business!" his voice cracked slightly as he made the demand.

I smiled slightly and gave a slow nod of greeting. I must have appeared frightening, dressed for battle as I was. My face was streaked with paint and my long hair had been interwoven with beads and feathers.

"My name is Rosemarie, and I have come seeking Alfred Jones. Will you take me to him?"

The boy looked surprised, but relieved. He lowered his gun.

"So, you're Miss Rose. Mr. Jones said to keep an eye out for you," he pointed down the road, "I can't leave my post, but it's that way, about two miles, and then a little off the road to the left."

I smiled once more.

"Thank you."

I urged my horse into movement once again. Keeping a slow pace so as not to alarm any other watchmen, I made my way down the road. A moment later, I heard a terrible attempt at a bird call. It was answered by another, further up the road. Taking this as the signal of my approach, I tightened the grip of my knees on the horse, squeezing its sides and pressing it to go faster. It leaped into action, bolting down the road. I felt myself grinning as my hair flew out behind me, the wind tearing at it. My cape rustled, white and gold feathers catching the sunlight. There was no saddle, and so, I moved with the horse's every step, truly within my element. I knew no other way to ride, and this way was exhilarating.

Two miles down the road from where I had met the first scout, I veered off to the left, following one of many small deer trails. Within a few minutes I was galloping into the camp, much to the surprise of some of the gathered men. Calls and cries rose up around me as I tugged my steed's mane, causing him to rear up. When he once again landed on both hooves, a ring of Americans had rushed over to better see who had so boldly ridden into their camp. I looked down at them, searching for one face in particular to break through the crowd. However, he did not appear to be present.

Frowning, I jumped down from my mount, my cape settling around me when I landed. None of the men dared to approach me, though they did not look as though they planned on letting me further into camp either. I drew myself up, putting on the same face I had used when confronting difficult tribes and slowly looking around the circle. A few of them shifted nervously as my eyes fell on them.

"I am looking for Mr. Alfred Jones."

The men began to mutter and glance at each other. I felt my eyes narrow slightly. I had been riding hard for days and was in no mood to be held up by a group of skittish humans.I opened my mouth to speak again, however, I was cut off by a loud, accented voice.

"What are you all standing around for? I'm training you to be soldiers not useless _depps_!"

The men scattered then, apparently rather afraid of whoever had yelled at them. I remained where I was, cocking my head to the side in curiosity. The clearing crowd revealed a tall figure in a long coat and, in my mind, outrageous hat. He strode forward purposefully, unhindered as the men seemed to flee before him. He came to a halt a few feet from me, staring down at me with a slight frown. I was rather surprised. I could, as I had with Alfred, sense, in a way, that this man was an embodiment as well. He was very distinctive. Even with his hat resting on his head, I could see that his hair was almost silver. His eyes were a strange color, almost red but not quite. They were more of a violet, really, with tell-tale blue accents littered throughout the irises. His face was rather handsome, a quality that was enhanced by his the obvious strength of his body, though it was hidden beneath his coat. I very nearly thought him beautiful.

Then he opened his mouth.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he asked bluntly, as though he were annoyed.

My eye very nearly twitched in annoyance. This need to repeat myself was wearing on my nerves.

"My name is Rosemarie, and I am looking for Alfred."

His strange eyes flickered in recognition. His lips curved upward into a slight smirk.

"So, you're the _fraulein_ America's been on about," he looked me up and down, "He said you were pretty, but I think he was biased."

My temper flared. I had only just met this man and already he had insulted me. I opened my mouth to respond, however, he continued, grinning as he read the anger in my eyes.

"Don't take it the wrong way, _prinzessin, _I'm sure you look fine without all the war paint."

He turned smartly, his coattails flaring, and motioned for me to follow him. After a moment of debate, I did so, drawing my horse along with me.

"Who are you, sir?" I asked as I caught up with him, finding it difficult to address him in a formal manner after his previous rudeness.

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, a grin once again stretching his lips. His oddly colored eyes sparked pridefully.

"I am the awesome Prussia, here to train America into a proper soldier," he sighed, the grin fading, "Honestly, that kid can't even fold his uniform properly."

I had heard of Prussia. A warlike Germanic Nation who had spent many years in conquest. Having him train Alfred was a wise move. With his experience, and reportedly harsh training methods, success was well within reach. However, his personality grated. Nonetheless, it was for the best.

"Has any progress been made?" I questioned.

He shrugged slightly.

"It's only been two weeks," he smirked, "But he flinches whenever he sees me. So, I think so."

I was not sure why this was a good thing, but Prussia obviously thought so. I nodded slightly.

After a small silence, I felt his gaze on me again. I looked over and met his eyes.

"Am I supposed to train you as well? I hope you're better than your pathetic friend."

I bristled, my eyes narrowing dangerously. Despite being quite angry with his insults, I managed to refrain from losing my temper.

"No, _sir_, you will not be training me. I have spent the last few years among my people, learning their fighting techniques."

It was true. I had stayed with many tribes over the years of my diplomatic travels. In order to gain their support, I had needed to learn all I could, from their rituals and ceremonies of peace, to the killing techniques and specific makeup they wore in combat.

Prussia looked interested, now, his silvery brows arching slightly.

"Oh?" he turned his head to look at me fully, studying me with a disconcerting shrewdness, "You know, I have never heard of you, _fraulein_. You are a Nation, though obviously not as awesome as me, but there is already a Native America. So, who are you?"

I tensed. Prussia was a much older Nation. Based on what I'd seen of his personality, I doubted he would have been one of the many who had so blatantly disliked my parents' romance, but, still. I was unsure about sharing my identity. I cursed his astuteness. I had hoped, as boorish as his personality seemed, that he would not have been so capable in observing me and my history. After all, just because Alfred had not cared about me being half human, did not mean that other Nations would not. I was an unknown factor. There had never been anything like me in the world before.

Taking a deep breath, and knowing that it was dishonorable to lie, I answered him truthfully.

"I am Native America's daughter."

The Prussian's eyes widened almost comically.

"So you are _that_ _fraulein._"

Quite suddenly, he began to laugh, a strange laugh, unlike anything I'd heard before. It caught me quite off guard. Just as suddenly, he whipped around and caught my chin in one gloved hand, gripping my face just tightly enough to ensure that I could not escape. With surprising gentleness that was at odds with the smirk on his face, he turned my head first to one side and then the other, examining me. I attempted to wrest my face from his grip, but he held me too tightly. His odd eyes studied me, searching, perhaps, for anything that gave away my humanness. However, embodiments are nearly identical to our people. We bear an, for lack of a better term, aura that allows us to be identified, yes. Aside from that, though, we are indistinguishable.

I glared at the man before me, annoyed with his forceful handling. It served to further cement my opinion that he was a brute.

"A half human. How fun," he chuckled, "And yet you are also a Nation. Now this is interesting," he released my chin and patted my cheek, "Well, _mien_ _lieber_, I can't wait to see how you effect the world."

I slapped his hand away in irritation.

"I am not here for your amusement, Prussia," my annoyance caused me to drop formalities for the most part, "I am here to assist America in his war against England. That is all the further I plan to effect the world."

He gave me an almost childish pout. Was this really the Nation chosen to train Alfred? He was not at all how I had imagined him after hearing the rumors about his military prowess.

"That's definitely not awesome. Where is your sense of ambition?"

I flipped my hair over my shoulder, paying no mind to the stares of the men around us. We must have been quite a sight, two embodiments, arguing about the progress of the future amid the hustle and bustle of the camp.

"At the moment, I have none."

I raised my hand an signaled a boy to come. I was quite ready to find Alfred and be done with the man before me. He had worn on my nerves. When the boy approached, I handed my horse off to him.

"Alfred is like a brother to me. I will remain by his side and support him. Then," I sighed, "Who knows. I appear to be immortal, so, it appears I will have a lot of time on my hands," I looked at him wryly, "Maybe, eventually, I will effect the world as you seem to hope."

He smirked.

Whatever else might have been said was interrupted as Alfred suddenly swooped in and bore me up into a bone-crushing embrace. My feet left the ground as his arms trapped mine tightly at my sides and lifted me into the air. He spun me around, narrowly missing the still-smirking Prussian. The air had left my lungs in a whoosh immediately upon his well-meant hug, and I was having a difficult time gaining it back.

"Rosie! You're back!"

As annoyed as I was by his overbearing exuberance, I found myself smiling. It was impossible not to. Alfred was, in all, such a contagiously happy person.

Slowly, his rotations stopped and he set me down. By some miracle, he had managed to miss crushing the feathers of my cape, leaving them only slightly ruffled instead. His hands found my shoulders and he squeezed tightly, once again forgetting his own monstrous strength.

"How was your trip? Did you gather many tribes? How did they receive you? Were any of them hostile? Did you have to fight anyone? What did you learn? Did you see your father again? Why didn't you write? It's been too long, you should have written. How many are willing to fight with us? What are you wearing? Does it have some kind of ceremonial meaning? Did you have to-"

I cut off his soon-to-be-unending line of questions in the only manner I knew. Before he could continue, I hit him quite hard over the head, causing him to duck in pain and surprise.

"Ow, what was that for? I see you for the first time in years and the first thing you do is hit me," he rubbed his head, looking at me reproachfully.

I patted his arm.

"You were asking too many questions. I had to get you to stop somehow."

He pouted.

The annoying laugh sounded once more.

"Kesesese," I looked back to see Prussia still standing there, looking at us in amusement, "You two are adorable," his violet eyes shifted to Alfred, who paled, "Now that you've had your reunion, get back to work, America."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest.

"But-"

"Now. Britain isn't going to lay down and give up his colony."

His pout growing more pronounced, Alfred turned and ran off the way he had come.

I was astonished. Alfred was usually very stubborn. To see him follow orders so readily was highly unusual.

"My God, the man's a miracle worker," I muttered.

Prussia had sidled closer and, apparently, heard me, as he laughed again, causing me to flinch slightly.

"_Danke_, _fraulein_, but I'm just that awesome."

I sighed. This man was going to wear heavily on my nerves. I just knew it.


	5. Revolution

I admit that I attempted to avoid Prussia for the vast majority of the time he was there. When we did interact, it was only for military purposes. Though, I hate to admit it, I did learn much from him. He taught me many things about strategy, weaponry, and European tactics. After our initial encounter, he became more serious and was a bit more pleasant to be around. Despite this, however, I still wanted as little to do with him as possible. He was utterly foreign to me, and that frightened me.

Alfred made stupendous progress due to Prussia's grueling training methods. God forbid that man ever find this journal, he would never let me live down the fact that I actually do respect him, and did even then. However, back then, he was just our military trainer. I always assumed he would return to Europe and we would not cross paths again, at least for a long time. I could not fathom how closely my own thread of fate would become entwined with his. Nor did I bother to ever consider the possibility. War had broken out.

When the war began, it did not take me long to discover that my half-human side would serve as a weakness. While, yes, I was able to connect with my people more than the other Nations, this was a double-edged sword. This connection caused me to feel every death that occurred within my tribes. I had steadily grown used to it. After all, the elderly were constantly dying, as were those who were ill, or perhaps suffered from an accident. It was something I could push to the back of my mind. During the war, though, when my people were being killed in large numbers, I began to get violently ill. The first time it happened, thankfully, I was within the American camp, rather than on the battlefield. I was looking over a set of maps, when, suddenly, I knew that a group of my braves had lost a battle with the British infantry, only half an hour's ride from the camp. I felt it, the effect of their deaths, pound into me like a physical blow. My stomach roiled, and, before I knew it, I was doubled over, vomiting into the grass. Every time I was near a battle site where large numbers of my men were being lost, I was unable to control my reaction. I attempted to stop it by keeping my stomach empty when I was near a large battle. However, this only resulted in the vomiting of blood. Worried, Alfred tried to stay with me as often as possible, but, he was needed by his own people. I told him not to worry about me, that I would recover. After all, the effects were not long term. Grudgingly, he went to the battlefield.

Tragedy occurred during one of the times he was away. I was steeling myself for another battle, sure that this one would be very bad. After all, the camp was moved to the front lines, and we would meet the enemy only a short distance away. We had an ambush laid out for them, however, the British were wary of the forest, and on guard against such attacks. I sat at the fire with one of the many war chiefs who had deigned to come to the front line and fight, when, suddenly, a runner came tearing into camp. The brave was painted for war, but his face was worried. I was startled. My men were strong of will and body, what one earth could have caused him to be afraid?

"Yoskeha!" he cried in the native tongue of the Iroquois, running to the fire, "Yoskeha, you must fight with us!"

I stood immediately, shocked. The chief next to me stood as well, his decorative feathers fluttering with the movement.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a deep rumble, "Lady Yoskeha cannot enter the battlefield. In uniting us against the invasion of the white man, she has made herself vulnerable. You know this."

My suffering during battles was received with mixed reactions. Some thought I was weak. However, the leaders seemed to believe that my pain showed that I was truly connected to the people, and that it was a physical manifestation of the suffering of the tribes. For that, they respected me.

The brave bowed his head.

"Great chief, we cannot defeat this group."

The chief's eyebrows rose.

"Why not?" he asked incredulously.

The brave raised his head, his black eyes meeting mine.

"Because, Britain is with them."

The news struck me like the blow of a hammer. The embodiment of England was marching with this particular group of British militia. I felt the color drain from my face. No human could stand up to a personification. Even my most skilled braves could not match _me_, a half human, in combat. However, what chance would I, a half breed girl stand against such an old and powerful nation? At the look in the brave's eyes, I knew I was the only chance. Alfred was gone, days away by now. Prussia had departed before the war grew too heated. After all, he had not come to fight, only to train. I was the only one who could stand before Britain and not be utterly defeated.

I set my face.

"I would be honored to fight with you."

I strode to my tent to retrieve my weapons, already dressed in battle attire. I knew that this would be difficult. I would most likely become ill during the battle. However, it was necessary. I would not allow my men to be wiped out because of my cowardice.

I snatched up my tomahawk and a knife, slipping them into my belt. My rifle, I left. Despite having learned how to shoot, I found the weapon distasteful. Besides, my job was to keep Britain away from my men. I knew that it would be impossible to kill him, so, it would be a waste of time to take the rifle. Besides, it was not the weapon I knew best. I did, however, take my bow and quiver of arrows in order to assist in the ambush.

Quickly, I reapplied my ceremonial war paint and pulled on my cape of eagle feathers. Then, I joined the brave outside my tent.

As he led me into the woods, both of us running, I prayed to Alfred's God that we would win the upcoming battle.

* * *

We waited in the trees, as still and tense as a hunting cat, ready to pounce. The British moved on the road below us, numbering at about forty. I had only twenty eight braves. We sought to use the woods and element of surprise to make up for our difference in numbers, however, there would definitely be casualties. Silently, we watched the enemy move beneath us, their eyes darting about, but never finding our well-hidden forms. They were frightened, despite the boost of having their Nation with them.

He was not hard to find. He rode on horseback, near the center of the column. I assumed that he was making a small attempt to pose as a regular officer, given the saber at his hip. However, with my people's ability to sense shifts in the natural order, it was no longer my braves had recognized him. He practically oozed power, wearing it like a cloak. His presence was almost stifling, even more so than Prussia's. I was many yards away and could still sense him. I took in his upright posture and red coat. He seemed like a normal British soldier in appearance. There was nothing extraordinary about his blonde hair, trapped beneath his hat, or his slight figure. His thick brows were definitely unique, but, not a rarity. He was very handsome, however, I had seen handsome humans before. What set him apart were his eyes. They were a bright green, greener than any shade I had witnessed in nature, and they were ancient. There was a wisdom in them, overshadowed by something almost like pride. I felt a shudder go down my spine as they swept over my hiding place. This was Arthur Kirkland, the man who had raised Alfred. The man we were fighting for independence.

The seconds seemed to tick by like hours as we waited for the column of troops to reach the point of ambush. My eyes never strayed from England. I needed to know where he was at all times, lest he manage to escape me. Finally, the front of the column reached the proper point. We burst from the trees with bloodcurdling war cries, weapons brandished. Gunshots split the air, mixing with the shouts of men. I descended on the man directly in front of me, my tomahawk in one hand and my knife in the other. Blood stained his red uniform as I ended him in two quick strokes. His neighbor met the same fate, falling before my blade. I began to realize why the humans so feared us when we entered battle. They could not stand against us. We were something different, driven by the will of our people and bringing all their power to bear. By the time I had killed my fifth man, the others were stumbling back, attempting to get a clear shot at me.

I felt it then, the deaths of my braves. My stomach roiled and I clamped my teeth to keep from emptying my stomach. My eyes narrowed in a glare. The sounds of battle raged on around me, the screams of the dying, the clash of weapons, and the sharp crack of gunshots. Blood stained the ground on which I stood and the bodies of the men I had killed stared blankly up at the sky. As adrenaline and power coursed through me in a heady cocktail, I was aware of all of this. I was also aware of the man to my right who was raising his gun, sighting down the barrel to my temple. With trained speed, I leaped at him, hooking my tomahawk on his rifle and dragging it down. In a flash, I cut his throat. He had not even struck the ground before I came down on my next victim. The British soldiers fell before me like blades of grass before a windstorm. I was like a force of nature. And I loved it.

I was forced to stop when a number of my men were suddenly killed off in quick succession. Being so close to them, I could not help my reaction. I was forced to double over, heaving vomit and blood. As the effect wore off, a bullet tore into my shoulder, drawing a scream from me. Blood still trickling from the corner of my mouth, I reacted, spinning around and rushing toward the man who had shot me. His eyes widened in terror as I raised my tomahawk, preparing to bury it in his skull. I brought my arm down with a savage, wild cry.

My blow was halted by a bayonet. I stood there for a moment, surprised by the sudden block.

"I see. So you're the one who has been giving my men such a hard time."

My gaze slid down the gun to its owner. There stood Britain. He had been the one to stop my attack. Though he was splattered with blood, and we were standing in the middle of a battleground, he regarded me with a curious expression. His eyes flickered to the cape on my back, which, miraculously, was undamaged by blood or dirt. Then they moved to my own eyes, which were as light as any white man's. I could see something suddenly click together for him.

"Ah, you must be Rosemarie."

The sound of my name brought me out of my trance. Snarling, I ripped my tomahawk away and spun into an attack with my knife. I was too slow. He blocked once again with his rifle, this time using the stock. I swung up with my tomahawk and he dodged, also easily evading the follow-up of my knife. Using the distance between us, he drew his saber. It was then that our deadly dance truly began. He was an expert swordsman. I found myself pressed to keep up with his offensive strikes. However, for over one hundred years I had trained in the techniques of my people. I am glad to say that I managed to hold my own. At least for a little while.

Blow after blow was exchanged. We slashed, thrust, and stabbed, but were never able to land a hit. The battle raged on around us, a bloodbath. Only a minute or so into our dance, I realized something. Arthur was not using his abilities to their fullest extent. There was a look of concentration on his face, yes, but not the desperation I was familiar with in battle. It was more like he was studying me.

I was furious. Using my anger as a second wind, I slammed my tomahawk into his blade, trapping it. I cut upward with my knife, aiming for his stomach. He caught my wrist with the hand not holding his sword. I bared my teeth and attempted to wrest my wrist away, however, his fingers only tightened, causing me to flinch slightly. There was a pause during which we were frozen, standing toe to toe, face to face. I glared into his green eyes with all the ferocity I could muster. He had killed my men, hurt Alfred, and was now attempting to stop him from gaining his independence.

"That expression is rather unbecoming, young lady."

I growled.

"Do not mock me, you fiend!"

I mentally cursed my own formal way of speaking. It tied me even closer to my British heritage, to him, than I ever wanted to be.

His eyebrows rose slightly in surprise.

"Fiend?"

I tugged again at my wrist and again was foiled.

"Release me!" I commanded, "So I can carve out your heart!"

His surprised expression was colored with amusement now. Despite having proved myself to be a deadly opponent, he still obviously saw me as a wolf cub, bearing its teeth with mock ferocity.

"Carve out my heart?" he asked in his smoothly accented voice, "What, pray tell, have I done to warrant your hatred, my dear?"

I snarled at the pet name and suddenly moved closer, my eyes burning with rage, my pride rising up within me. How dare he ask that question? What had he done? He stood firm despite my aggressive movement.

"You hurt Alfred! Your king's taxation hurt him! And you did nothing!"

His eyes flashed and he painfully tightened his grip on my wrist. My face contorted as I was forced to drop my knife.

"Lady Yoskeha!"

I looked to see my remaining braves beginning to retreat. They had decimated the British force, however, there were a few survivors who were putting up quite a fight. Bearing the bodies of the dead and wounded, the braves raced back into the tree line. The man who had acted as a runner was staring at me in horror, taking in the way Britain held me in an iron grip, easily keeping me at bay. Then, his expression turned angry and he reached for his weapons.

"Go!" I cried in our native tongue.

He stopped, shocked.

"But, Yoskeha-"

"Go! This is not your fight! You cannot help me!"

He debated for a moment. Then, with one last regretful look, followed his brethren.

I was left alone, still within England's grasp. I returned my gaze to him to find him looking back at me in annoyance.

"I fail to see how America concerns you. You should be following along after your father, learning from him. Not attempting to show courage by letting your braves abandon you here."

I kept my gaze cold and icy.

"Alfred saved me from solitude. I was alone, abandoned by my father, not truly accepted by the humans. And then he found me," I pulled away, yanking my tomahawk from where it had been locked. My wrist remained in his grasp, "I owe him a great debt of friendship and I will follow him to the end!"

With a whoop, I swung on him, aiming to embed it in his chest. He released me and spun away, dodging.

"Debt or not, you should not be here. You are half human. You could easily be hurt. Do your people honestly value their lives so little or is he perhaps something more to you?" Arthur put quite a bit of distance between us as he spoke.

I followed, moving swiftly over the blood-soaked ground.

"He is like my brother," I replied, spinning into an upper strike.

Britain scowled, dodging swiftly. He seemed very irritated, and perhaps angered by my reply.

"Is that so? He replaced me so soon after my departure."

"Replaced?" I was surprised enough that I stopped, "Never. He always spoke of you with affection and respect. To the point that even I respected you."

He blinked in surprise, halting as well, only a yard or so from me. His remaining soldiers had moved away from our fight and were attempting to recover from the ambush, perfectly content to leave the two nations to their own battle.

"It was only after the people began to be oppressed that he fell into depression, and his words of praise became fewer and further between," I looked at him steadily, "He saved me from a fate of loneliness and accepted me in a time when no one else has," I glared, "I will not stand to see him oppressed or in pain," I tensed, preparing to fight again, "I am not your replacement, I'm just the friend who will fight beside him, wherever he goes!"

I took a step forward, preparing to charge. Suddenly, I heard gunshots from the forest nearby, and the cries of dying men. I staggered, doubling over and heaving. There was nothing left in my stomach, so the only thing that left my mouth was blood and a bit of watery fluid. It splattered beneath me, staining the ground further. My remaining braves were dead, caught by an ambush off the road. I knew that I was the only survivor of the raid. I had failed.

"Good Lord…" I heard Arthur mutter in response to my sudden illness.

I staggered upright. I knew from experience that I looked dreadful. My face was pale and drawn, blood trickling down my chin. I supposed that I must almost look white, like my mother. I trembled in a bout of weakness that swept in on the heels of the vomiting.

I had either to escape or end this quickly. I would not last much longer in my current state. I looked up at England, face set.

He gave me a look of something like parental disapproval.

"It was most unwise of you to enter into a battle when ill."

I frowned at him.

"I am not ill."

He looked unconvinced. I realized then, how this must appear. I smirked without humor.

"This is the price I pay for being a child of two worlds, Arthur Kirkland. I, being half human, am much closer to my people than any of the other nations. I feel every death in the back of my mind, no matter the distance. But, when I am close…it can affect me to the point of incapacitation."

He stared at me in shock, saber held loosely in one hand.

"You mean to say that…you're fighting in this war, for him, despite being hurt so badly by it?"

I was surprised. I had never thought of it that way. To me, the illness had been a reminder of what I was and what I endured for my people, not a price to pay in the war.

I nodded slowly.

"Yes."

We looked at me for a long moment. Then, he sighed.

"Look at you. You are in no condition to continue…" he looked at his remaining men, "And we need to regroup," his piercing green eyes found mine again, "Until next time?"

I stared at him, surprised. He was letting me go? I thought this over. I supposed he was attempting to be a gentleman, and, he was right, I was in no condition to continue.

"…Until next time."

I quickly vanished into the forest, still reeling from my encounter with Britain.


End file.
